


i could share it with you (if you gave me the time.)

by serenitysea



Series: all of my heroes sit up straight (orphanage au) [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Other, but the tiny smalls adopt him first, fitz hates whoever dares to lay a hand on jemma, fitzsimmons cuddles, grant ward protects his tiny smalls, jemma hates bullies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 10:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2690042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you think," Jemma says, into the quiet of their cramped little room. "That perhaps he’s just… <i>lonely</i>?”</p><p>Fitz scoffs. “Big fellow like that? He could <i>scare</i> anyone into being friends with him.”</p><p>"Yes." She frowns into the darkness. "But he doesn’t." </p><p>*</p><p>fitzsimmons themed sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2664920">i'm all bloody knuckles, longing for home</a>.</p><p>(shield orphanage au.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i could share it with you (if you gave me the time.)

**Author's Note:**

> you don't have to read [bloody knuckles](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2664920) first but it might make more sense if you do. 
> 
> although, fitzsimmons cuddles don't necessarily need a prequel (skyeward style) if that's not your thing.

 No one really knows where Leopold Fitz and Jemma Simmons came from.   
  
One day they were just _there_.   
  
*   
  
The thing is.   
  
The thing is, Grant is kind of a very _large_ and intimidating sort.   
  
But Jemma has seen him and the way he is kind and gentles his behavior around the younger kids. He always makes sure there is a fair amount of food distributed at meal times and will sneak an extra roll to anyone looking peckish.   
  
*   
  
"Do you think," Jemma says, into the quiet of their cramped little room. "That perhaps he's just… _lonely_?"  
  
Fitz scoffs. "Big fellow like that? He could _scare_ anyone into being friends with him."   
  
"Yes." She frowns into the darkness. "But he doesn't."   
  
*  
  
They're trying to organize the cupboards to take inventory when a group of boys come barreling in. They are generally disruptive and quite a bit bigger than Fitz (who has had a bit of a growth spurt that came out of _nowhere_ — she's still letting down the hems in his trousers at night) and have a terrible look of trouble in their eyes.   
  
"We want sweets," the biggest one says, leering at her in a way no fifteen year old should know.   
  
"You won't get them here." Jemma comes forward, bravely planting her feet shoulder distance apart. (Everyone knows not to give into bullies and to stand your ground in the face of intimidation.)  "We're conducting an inventory. The counts must be accurate."   
  
Fitz comes to stand beside her in a show of solidarity, surreptitiously pushing up his sleeves.   
  
"Your count will just have to reflect a _few_ less then, won't it?"  
  
"No." Jemma clenches her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.   
  
"We're not _asking_ , little bun." At his statement the other two seem to leap into action, filling their arms with whatever delights they can gather.   
  
She tries to pull the cookies from their hands and ends up pushed to the ground for her efforts. Fitz gives an almighty cry and rushes at the ringleader, managing to knock him off guard and into a wall of shelving.   
  
Before retribution can be made, the lights go out suddenly.   
  
When they are turned back on, Grant is standing in the doorway. "Is there a problem here?"   
  
Jemma bites her lip and silently pleads for Fitz to keep quiet.   
  
Something in Grant's expression shifts as he intercepts her gaze and he refocuses his attention on the others. "Andrew. Why don't you gather your buddies and we'll take a walk."   
  
It is clear he is not _asking_.   
  
In less than a minute, the older boys are gone.   
  
Fitz stares at Jemma with wide eyes (an effect slightly ruined by the flour that is dusted into the curls on his head) and a panic-stricken expression. "Now we've done it."  
  
*   
  
That night there is a knock on their door.   
  
Jemma glances at her watch (the thing was forever needing to be replaced; Fitz probably took it apart and rebuilt it twice a month) and nearly gasps at the time. Just past two in the morning? Who could possibly be at the door?   
  
"Fitz," she hisses, nudging him sharply on her way to the door.   
  
"Mrumph," he mumbles, rolling over in his sleep.   
  
Jemma opens the door and finds Grant silhouetted against the darkened hallway.   
  
"I just wanted to let you know that those boys won't be bothering you anymore." Grant shifts on his feet awkwardly and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I thought that what you did was very brave."   
  
"Are you…" She peers curiously at the way he seems to be carefully holding himself away from the light and favoring his left side. "You're _hurt_!"  
  
He shoots an agonized look at her outcry, worried that someone will have heard her. "It's nothing."  
  
Jemma grabs his arm ( _good lord_ , but he is _large_ ) and pulls him into the room. She shuts the door and flips on the lights.   
  
Fitz groans in protest.   
  
"Sit down," she orders Grant firmly. " _Fitz_ , I need my supplies."   
  
Jemma's authoritative voice is one of the few things that can pull Leopold Fitz from a dead sleep.   
  
Fitz rolls to a sitting position and blearily stares at their visitor. " 'd'you know you've a black eye?"  
  
Grant closes his eyes in quiet exasperation but allows Jemma to push him into the window-seat without further protest. He sighs heavily. "You don't say."  
  
*  
  
( _years later_.)  
  
When he brings Skye to them, there is a sort of balance to the group that they've been missing. A _rightness_ that settles into their bones and calms even the most unsettling of thoughts conjured up late at night.   
  
Jemma rolls over and bumps her knee against Fitz's thigh. "What do you think of Skye?"  
  
For a long moment Fitz says nothing. Then he inhales sharply and mumbles, "She's got shiny hair and a hell of an attitude. Grant's found another stray."   
  
"She's not a _stray_ ," Jemma protests, rubbing her thumb on his bare shoulder soothingly. (She _did_ wake him up, after all.) "She's one of us."  
  
"Of course she is," Fitz clears his throat and — in a move she honestly hadn't seen coming — rolls them smoothly so that Jemma is tucked neatly between his body and the wall. "Fantastic. That's settled, can we go back to sleep?"  
  
"Fitz, _really_!" she exclaims, trying to dodge his wandering hands.   
  
His hands drift farther south. "Wake me up to chat and you deal with the consequences." He does not sound the slightest bit repentant.   
  
(But then, to be quite honest… neither is Jemma.)  
  


**Author's Note:**

> \+ you can always find me on [tumblr](b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com)! 
> 
> \+ title for this series (and the works within it) is taken from gregory alan isakov's _second chances_.


End file.
